Worthy of Love
by spittingllama7856
Summary: Harry's scars don't define him, just like Ron's don't. Sure, they're different, but. . . that doesn't matter to Ron. Harry is his everything, and nothing will ever change that. Harry Potter/Ron Weasley, mentions of self-harm, post-war.


**_Romance challenge information_**

 _Day/Fic Number: 05_

 _Representation(s): Harry Potter/Ron Weasley; character with depression_

 _Word count: 783_

 _ **Warning(s)**_ _: mentions of self-harm; implied/mentioned depression_

 _Additional notes: Post-war; not-epilogue compliant; established relationship_

" _Don't tell me you love me. Please don't_."

The words were said so quietly that Ron nearly didn't hear them. He'd woken up in the middle of the night, reaching out instinctively beside him for Harry while drowsily saying: "Come back to bed, love." when Harry hadn't been there.

Harry had his back turned to him, his shoulders hunched and head bowed. He was sitting at the foot of their bed, hands fisted in the sheets. It was a position so closed off and unwelcoming that Ron almost left Harry alone.

Ron knew better than to do that, though. Harry wasn't crazy—Ron didn't think that for a moment—but Harry . . . he just needed some help, was all. He did things to himself when no one was watching, things that sent him to St. Mungo's while Kreacher cleaned up pools of blood on the bathroom floor.

It made Ron's heart ache to think about it. He couldn't have done a thing to stop it from happening, but he wanted to just turn back time and gently talk Harry out of doing it. He wanted Harry to feel happy again, above all else.

"But I do," Ron said softly.

He saw Harry flinch. Ron swallowed against the lump in his throat and crawled over their large bed to hug Harry from behind. He held the black-haired man awkwardly, his arms wrapped around Harry's shoulders, thighs pressed against Harry's back.

"Don't say it," Harry pleaded.

Ron squeezed Harry gently, biting his lip and closing his eyes tightly. He wasn't going to cry, not right now. He _couldn't_ , because Harry needed him.

"I love you, Harry. I love you so much. . ." Ron murmured.

"W-why?" The black-haired man choked the words out.

"Because you're funny, and kind, and you have the biggest heart. You're so sweet. . . you love to help people. . . you're attractive too," Ron listed softly.

"I'm not, though!" Harry argued, his voice breaking.

"You _are_ ," Ron said firmly.

When Harry didn't reply, Ron let his hands wander down Harry's arms and reached his wrists. He heard his lover's breath hitch, but neither of them made any move to pull Ron's hands away.

"Is this why you feel like you aren't?" Ron asked softly into Harry's ear.

He felt Harry's sobs, but he didn't hear them.

 _I never hear them_ , Ron thought, his heart breaking.

"Y-yes," Harry gasped, nodding.

"They don't define you. _My_ scars don't define me, do they?" Ron asked gently, warmly.

He was referring to the long gashes on his face he'd gotten during a raid on one of his earlier missions with the Aurors. They ran from the middle of his forehead and down his nose—nearly over his eye—and across his cheek and neck.

Harry shook his head furiously.

Ron rested his head on Harry's shoulder. His back was bent oddly and he was sure it would hurt him later, but he didn't care.

Nothing mattered as much as Harry did.

"Yours don't make you ugly, or worthless, or weak," Ron said.

Harry's entire body shook with the effort of repressing his crying. His shoulders were so tense it felt like Ron was pressed against a wall.

Something twisted in Ron's stomach, an aching he'd never felt before. It hurt to see Harry like this.

"It's okay. It's just me, let it all go. I won't love you any less," Ron murmured.

It felt like an eternity waiting for Harry to relax. Ron worried that he never would. Just as Ron opened his mouth to repeat the words, Harry let out a shuddering sob.

It kept going, and going. He couldn't seem to stop himself from crying, mumbling incoherent words between every exhale of breath. Ron rocked him back and forth, biting his lip. His breath caught every time Harry let out a shuddering sob.

It was better that he was letting it all out. . . but it didn't mean that Ron was exactly jumping for joy that Harry was _sobbing_ like everything he'd ever loved had been taken from the world.

"That's good, shh, it'll be alright," Ron said, over and over again.

The worst part was that he didn't know if that was true.

It could've been a few minutes, or even hours, before Harry's sobs quieted down. They somehow shifted so that Harry was now cuddled against Ron's chest, his face buried in the redhead's neck. Ron absently stroked Harry's soft hair. It smelled like wind.

 _Does wind even have a smell?_ Ron wondered, suddenly exhausted.

"I love you too," Harry whispered.

Ron, despite everything, smiled softly. Harry snuggled closer to him.

"You're worth loving," Ron breathed.

He could've sworn he felt Harry's lips curve into a small smile before they fell asleep.


End file.
